


Brain to Mouth

by frances_the_red



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-typical language, Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_the_red/pseuds/frances_the_red
Summary: prompt: The reason why Geralt doesn’t talk much is that he has no brain to mouth filter and he immediately spews the first thing that comes to his mind and really, he found out that it’s far easier to just be silent than to tell a lord that he looks like a kikimore’s ballsack to his face.Everything comes crashing down when a curse makes Geralt unable to stop himself and now he suddenly keeps telling Jaskier that he’s pretty, his voice is heavenly and geralt would very much like to press him against that tree right there.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 265





	Brain to Mouth

The monster of the week had been an easy one: just a matter of banging some pans and pots together and the little kobolds were scarred enough of the noise to scuttle away and leave the ‘haunted house’. The payment would be some measly crowns, so Geralt and Jaskier did their usual search for retribution, opening cupboards and cabinets and taking what took their fancy.   
Jaskier refused to call it looting.

Geralt had just found a rope ladder - odd how often he came across those - when he heard the bard approaching.  
“Geralt, can you tell me what this-Aargh!” The minstrel managed to break through a rotten floor board, getting stuck and sending the vials he was holding flying in the process. Geralt could have probably dodged those. But his very first instinct by now was to ‘save the bard’, so deeply ingrained after years of travel that ‘ducking unknown substances’ was not a priority. One vial crashed against his shoulder, the other flew over his head, emptying itself on the Witchers hair.

“Oh no! My dear Witcher, are you okay?”, asked the minstrel, while getting his foot unstuck.  
Geralt felt his shoulders shrug. “Who cares. Are you, though? Does anything hurt?”  
“Well, I care! I have no idea what was in these. That could have been… acid or poison or sleeping draughts or worse even. Some kind of mind altering substance! I’ve heard of sex pollen and love potions and stuff.”  
“I’m sure the last two wouldn’t have been a hardship with you by my side.”  
Jaskier looked at him oddly.  
“I am fine, Jask, stop bothering about me and tell me if you are hurt, or I will sweep you off your feet this instant so you don’t aggravate that ankle of yours.”  
“Sweep me of my… Why Geralt, you could do that any day without bodily harm involved, if you wanted.”, remarked Jaskier in his usual flirty way.  
“I do. Want that. I would carry you all the time, pressed to my chest save and sound, if that would keep you away from all the horrors in the world.”

They blinked at each other after that strange admission, both in a mild state of shock.

“Fuck. What was in that potions?” 

—————

“Just a mild compellant”, the druid informed them. “Together with the potion to lower your inhibitions I can only assume that the collective effect would be somewhat of a truth serum, making you speak whatever comes to mind.”  
“Fuck.”  
“Indeed, Witcher. It will fade in time. Maybe two to three days until it’s out of your system.”  
“Three days? This will be hell. I need a hole to hide in this instant or I will die of embarrassment.”  
Jaskier tried to hide his amusement but failed spectacularly. He smirked gleefully while petting Geralts arm.  
“There, there. Don’t fret, my friend. I will deal with the alderman so you won’t say something unpleasant concerning his coiffure and you go and… talk to Roach.”  
“You call that assholes balding a coiffure? It’s twenty hairs combed to the side, it looks ridiculous. Not sure if a shave would look better, though. His head looks like a dick with his massive forehead furrows acting like foreskin.”  
Jaskier broke into a fit of laughter and dragged the mortified Witcher away from the alienated druid.

————

It had been a good idea of Jaskiers, though. Geralt muttered all his fleeting thoughts and ideas into poor Roaches ears, when Geralt and his bard were back on the Path a few hours later. Jaskier tried not to listen in, giving him the pretense of privacy to his own thoughts.  
The bard injoyed this whole debacle immensely, though. He had never heard the Witcher talk so much. He absorbed every syllable muttered from that deep voice, carefully hiding it away for moments he needed that voice the most.  
“Look at that smug face of his, Roach. All the times I told him to shut the fuck up and when I actually need him to talk and distract me from my thoughts, he is all quiet,” he heard Geralt rumble. Jaskier bit his lip to keep from giggling.  
“I really hate his stupid beautiful face right now. There could have been anything in those vials and he just goes and picks them up. His endless curiosity will kill him one of these days. I’m just glad that they landed on me and not on him. Imagine it being some acrid concoction. It would have eaten away his skin.”

Jaskier shuddered. Okay then. Lesson learned. No more touching unknown substances.

“That would have been a shame. I really like his face.”

Jaskier nearly stumbled over a nonexistent pebble.

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like him without it. But it’s certainly one of his features. It’s up there with the hair. I wonder if it really is as soft as it looks. The way he takes care of it with all those oils it must be like silk. One of these days I’m going to get my hands on a strand and find out.”  
Jaskier turned around then, an indulging smile on his lips. He took the big sword calloused hand that wasn’t holding Roaches reins.  
“All you have to do is ask, you big oaf”, he remarked gently and guided Geralts fingers through his bangs.  
“Oh. That’s really nice.”  
Jaskier kept on smiling gently, closing his eyes to indulge in the gentle petting that would surely be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They stood in the middle of a downtrodden forest trail like that, Geralt carding both of his hands through Jaskiers hair in wonder. Roach had wandered of, snacking on grasses and clover.

“I don’t wanna stop because your hair really is as soft as I imagined but I really should.”  
“Why’s that?”  
You could see the muscles in Geralts jawbone moving, trying to repress whatever his mind wanted to blurt out. But it was no use.  
“This situation is awkward enough. If I keep on touching, I’m not sure if my hands won’t wander to explore other things I wondered about. Like… how does your skin feel like? Are your lips as soft as they look? How does that spot right behind your ears smell like?” Geralts eyes got bigger and bigger while he couldn’t stop the questions from tumbling out. Jaskiers lips formed a wonderous ‘oh’, eyes disbelieving and hopeful.

“Well”, Jaskier cleared his throat, trying to get his bearings together. “If that has been something you had on your mind for a while, who am I to deny you this knowledge. You have my explicit permission. Explore away.”

Geralts hands balled into fists, tugging at the bards hair just on the right side of painful. Jaskier repressed a moan, while Geralt tried to get his thoughts in order. Then with a faint “okay then” started to trace his thumb over Jaskiers facial features. His cheekbones, his lips and brows, the back of his nose, his cupids bow.

“Holy shit, we are really doing this,” he mumbled, pressing his nose in Jaskiers hair, breathing deeply and groaning. “You smell so… devine. I want to eat you up.”

The minstrel chuckled disbelievingly. He bowed his head to the side to give Geralt more room to slide his nose into the side of his neck.  
“Sweet Melitele, I can’t believe I am actually doing this. How often I wanted to… I would love to put my mouth on you. Taste you.”  
“Sure”, breathed Jaskier weakly. His body was trembling, his heart beating away in a fortissimo furioso. His hands grabbed onto Geralts midriff, trying to steady himself.

The White Wolfs lips settled on his own, unsure at first, only testing and probing. Then his ministrations grew in hunger, playfully biting a plush lip and putting his tongue to good use. When they parted for breath, their eyes were closed, treasuring the moment.  
“Shit. I had a few good kisses in my long life but this one is certainly in the top five”, mumbled Geralt.  
“We should practice then. Make it number one. I’ve always been ambitious.”  
Geralt growled with need, putting his hands on the bards slim hips and pressing into him.   
“Gosh, Jask. You can’t just say things like that. Every time you say flirty stuff like that I want to push you against a tree and fuck that cocky attitude out of you.”  
“Oh-hoho. Let’s try that right now.” With another deep growl the bard was lifted with a firm grip on his fine behind and shoved into the trunk of a chestnut tree. Jaskier squeeked in surprise and glee, still not believing what was happening.  
“May I touch you, too?”, the troubadour asked, just to be on the safe side of things here. Geralt nussled his face down Jaskiers shirt, licking on an exposed collar bone.  
“I want your hand down my pants. I dream about that, sometimes. Your long nimble fingers on my cock. Your silver tongue on my nipples. Your amazing blue eyes starring me down and smirking your devil may care smile while you take your liberties.”  
“YES! Yes, of course. We could have done this ages ago, you quiet bastard! You should speak your mind more often.”

So Geralt did. Voicing every little fantasy. Jaskier was happy to comply.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick prompt fill for tumblr user @witchersjaskier.   
> If you want to [send me a prompt](https://00qtee.tumblr.com), I would be happy to try my hand at it. 
> 
> I'm on a comment & kudo diet. Please feed me?


End file.
